


goner

by irwincouture



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sad, this is pretty shitty sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:48:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4155894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irwincouture/pseuds/irwincouture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only Josh would have noticed and Tyler wasn't so sad.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>[Yes, this is based off of Goner, don't kill me]</p>
            </blockquote>





	goner

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fan fiction and yeah, if kinda sucks.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways, this was just for fun, and I ship joshler for fun. I just don't want them to see this in anyway, which I doubt they will anyways, but let's all respectfully ship joshler (:

A silent "No," was repeated over and over and over, so quiet that the stars and the sun wouldn't blink. The bed was rustled and pillows were planted every which way. The bedsheets were stained a faint red from days ago. 

Staring inside a mirror would make things worse. His other mask would come out, and as he would look into that mirror, the image became pixelated, almost blurry. 

All of those good days would be suddenly buried deep within his soul, and you would need a big shovel and lots of time to get to the source of happiness. 

Rain splashed onto the window, tapping every so often, and every time he knocked, Tyler would let the sadness in.

Tyler didn't want to become this way. He didn't want to be different. He didn't want these spirits to tell him what he was or define who he is. He just wanted to be normal.

But the constant "No's" told otherwise.

He would hold /his/ picture inside the frame, cracked on the side, dearest to him at night. This seized his thoughts away for a short duration until they returned, darker. And every time the "No's" got louder.

It began with these itches every so often. Tyler would find himself scratching and tearing apart his skin. At first it was small. But now, however, it's a daily routine.

And then became the small pining Tyler partook in, but that made his angst unbearable. He just wanted to be known. 

Tyler thrashed in his sleep, screaming, but nobody heard. Nobody ever heard. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. His nightmares seemed to to overtake reality, and the spirits didn't help when he awoke.

His only solution was the bags under his eyes. Tyler ran on one minimal hour of sleep, slowly becoming dependent on hot coffee. 

His soul ached for a vaccination of therapy (the kind that started with an L and ended with an E) and his mind ached for knowledge of perception. The only admirable attention he could remember were the memories, buried deep within his twisted body.

Those were out of reach; the highest on the bookshelf.

Nobody wanted to make him happy. Nobody wanted to notice him. Nobody wanted to know him.

Tyler hoped and wished and believed something great would happen, but it was too much to ask. 

Tyler decided to begin to tear his apartment up, piece by piece. First came the curtains that were torn apart into small shreds. 

The "No's," he was whispering became shouts, and they ascended into beautiful belches and screams, wanting the world to hear his only existence. 

His bedroom as littered, his kitchen was a wreck, and his body was a different story.

He took out a black Sharpie marker, scribbling all over his shirt. A shirt only had a limited capacity, and soon he was furiously writing on his skin. 

It was almost poetic in a third sense.

Next came the cell phone. Buttons were pressed in an order memorized by heart, almost in record breaking time. Tyler held his phone to his ear, listening to /his/ voicemail once again. /He/ was just ignoring Tyler at this point.

Tyler shook with fear, crying acid down his cheeks drop by drop. His anxiety rose to a high once the final "Record a Message" beep went out.

And Tyler dropped his sharpie on the ground, listening to the silence around him. Listening to one thing lose a purpose. 

Tyler's voice was cracking, but he fixed a single sentence out of his mouth. "Don't let me be gone." 

Within seconds, the cell phone was shut and broken from flying out the window.

Tyler was hyperventilating, frantically searching his medicine cabinet for his vaccination to his heart. Once the bottle was found and opened, Tyler brought the pills to a desk. Taking out a piece of paper and a pen, Tyler would take one pill with one reason.

And he had twenty one reasons. 

Pens were flying as if they were racing with the paper for a proper placement. Ink stuck to the paper perfectly, ignoring the messy, sloppy handwriting coming from the quick writer.

A smile formed into Tyler's face, which hadn't happened in a long time. He analyzed his writing with his eyes, feeling satisfied. 

Then one by one, Tyler downed his pills. 

Tyler shakily picked up his sharpie, scribbling on his shirt once more. He left enough space in the middle on the front. He picked up his photo of him. Of when they were once happy. Of when things were decent. Tyler smiled once more before whispering, "Josh, please come. Come, catch my breath." 

Slowly, but definitely, Tyler's pulse slowed and his body went limp and unconscious.


End file.
